sweet & salty

Your head throbbed, and your eyes felt heavy. Inside, the party raged on, music booming, laughter spilling into the night, but you only watched from your quiet corner, a bittersweet smile hovering on your face. You had once been the life of the party, the one whose presence made a night worth remembering, but now, here you were, tucked in the backseat, ready to call it a night before midnight.

Thinking about it, parties weren’t the only thing he’d taken from you. He’d stolen something else too, the spark in your eyes, the part of you that used to feel untouchable. You realized it the moment you caught yourself staring at your reflection in the bathtub, trying to figure out what was missing. You’d learned to look away from mirrors. You wished you could flee your thoughts just as easily.

A loud laugh jolted you out of your reverie. It was Nancy, already tipsy, clinging to Steve, laughing like the world revolved around her. And there he was, looking at her with that infuriating, devoted smile, his puppy eyes sparkling as he looked at her. 

He opened the front door carefully, guiding her inside with gentle hands before slipping into the driver’s seat. You sank a little deeper into the back, clutching your now empty red cup, and tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter, even if your heart whispered otherwise. 

“You good?” he asked, glancing back at you as he started the engine. 

You shivered as a gust of cold air swept through the car. “Jesus, it’s freezing,” he muttered, turning the dial to crank up the heat before pulling onto the road. 

“Just tired,” you offered softly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the red cup. 

The streets were quiet, the glow of the streetlights painting everything in streaks of gold and white. Rain began to fall lightly, blurring the world beyond the window. You leaned back in the backseat, exhausted, the faint smell of alcohol and smoke from the party still clinging to the air. Nancy was slumped against the window, head tipped lazily to the side, her hair messy from dancing and a few too many drinks. Without thinking, you reached over and gently stroked her hair, smiling at your best friend. She’d been drinking a lot lately. You knew she needed this, needed to let loose. She put far too much pressure on herself, and tonight, at least, she deserved a little freedom. 

“Thanks for driving me home early,” you said softly, trying not to sound needy “I… I didn’t want to stay out so late tonight.” 

He flicked a glance at you through the rearview mirror, one corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said casually. “I was ready to bail too. Josh is a dick.” 

You smiled, a little, the tension in your chest loosening. He didn’t make you feel guilty. He didn’t need to. That small consideration hit harder that you expected. 

The low hum of INXS - Never Tear Us Apart filled the car, soft and calming, as Steve hummed along quietly. When the car hit a bump, your hand went out reflexively to steady yourself against the driver’s seat. Steve’s eyes flicked toward you, his fingers brushed yours lightly, just enough to make contact, and then retreated back to the wheel as if nothing happened. Your chest skipped a beat, and you let your hand rest on your lap, suddenly noticing how his warmth still lingered on your skin. You glanced at him, catching the faint crease between his brows, the tension in his jaw and the way his gaze lingered just a fraction too long in the rearview mirror. 

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he said, his gaze briefly flicking to you, a hint of concern in his eyes. 

“Just… worn out,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, fragile and thin. 

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just let the car hum along the road. Then almost under his breath, he murmured, “You don’t have to hide it, you know. I’ve got you.” 

His words wrapped around you in a way that made something inside you loosen, and you allowed yourself a small smile, just enough to feel lighter than you had all night. 

You wanted to say something, to tell him how safe and seen you felt in that moment, but the words caught in your throat as you glanced at his girlfriend, still blissfully asleep beside him. Instead, you leaned back, letting the soft patter of the rain and the distant music fill the silence between you.

By the time he pulled into your driveway, the song had ended. You stepped out into the rain, your little black dress clinging in the wind. He tossed his jacket over your shoulders, it smelled like him, warm musk, with just a hint of smoke. It hurt to feel so safe and so wrong at the same time. As you retreated to your room, you realized something you weren’t quite ready to put into words. 

2.

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead as you wandered through the nearly empty mall, the scent of popcorn and perfume hanging faintly in the air. Nancy had wandered off into a clothing store, leaving you and Steve alone near the record shop. 

You had your favorite ice cream in one hand and a bag of clothes in the other. It felt like the first time in ages that you were truly enjoying yourself. Maybe it was the ice cream, or maybe it was him? But either way, you felt light, carefree, and almost… happy. 

You were wandering through the aisle of the record shop, letting your fingers trail over the vinyls, the familiar smell of paper filling the air. The buzz of the place was comforting and safe, but then you felt a shift, a presence too close, too eager. You glanced up to find a guy standing beside you, leaning in just a little too much, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “You come here often?” 

You half-rolled your eyes, already bored with the cliché pickup line, but you forced a polite smile, just to brush him off. “Sometimes,” you replied, glancing away, hoping he’d get the hint. 

He didn’t. 

His eyes lingered just a second too long, not meeting your face but clearly looking at your legs, the hem of your dress grazing just above your knees. You could feel the weight of his gaze as it slid over you, uncomfortable and persistent. 

“Nice dress,” he added, his tone dripping with insincerity. “Looks great on you.” 

You tried to step back, but he shifted, blocking your path. You could feel the unease creeping up your spine, your stomach tightening. You opened your mouth to brush him off, but before you could, you felt Steve’s presence at your side. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t need to, but the way he stood next to you, close but not touching, made the guy falter. He glanced between you two, then looked back at Steve, who hadn’t even acknowledged him with more than a cold glance. 

The guy hesitated, clearly uncomfortable now, but still he smirked and muttered something about “maybe seeing you around”. Arrogant, clueless… and painfully reminiscent of your ex. He backed off, though not without a lingering, almost apologetic glance at Steve. 

You looked up at Steve, expecting something. Anything. But he didn’t react. His expression stayed neutral, almost unreadable, yet the tension in his posture spoke louder than words. He wasn’t angry. Not at the guy, at least. 

“Everything alright?” Steve said after a beat, his voice casual, his hand brushing against yours. 

“Yeah,” you said, straightening up and brushing it off. “Just an asshole.” 

He gave a simple nod, then turned and kept walking, the conversation forgotten, but the brief interaction lingered between the two of you like unspoken tension. 

Minutes later, Steve pulled a cassette from the shelf, turning it in his hands before handing it to you. 

“Thought you might like this,” he said lightly, but the brief glance he shot you felt careful. 

You blinked at the tape, U2, With or Without You. “You… thought of me?” You asked, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. 

Steve handed you the cassette with a slight smile, the edges of the packaging worn from his own handling. “Yeah, it’s cool,” he said softly, his tone almost secretive, like there was something more to the song that he was letting on. 

You looked at him, confused for a moment. “Why this one?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

He just nodded, urging you to take the cassette. “Trust me.” 

You hesitated, but his earnestness nudged you. You accepted the cassette, but before you could even think of putting it in your bag, he pulled out a walkman from his jacket pocket, holding it out to you. 

“Here,” he said, his fingers brushing yours for a second as he handed it over. He seemed a little more nervous now, his usual confident demeanor slipping just a fraction. 

Curious, you took the small device from him. He stepped closer, just enough to close the space between you two, and carefully settled the headphones over your ears. His breath brushed against your cheek for a moment, warm and unexpectedly intimate in the quiet of the store. You felt the familiar stir of something unspoken. 

The moment you pressed play, the soft opening chords of “With or Without You” began to fill your ears. It hit you that this was the kind of music that perfectly captured how everything about being near Steve felt, like you were floating. The lyrics, soft but intense, wrapped around you like a memory you weren’t ready to name yet.

You didn’t pull away from the walkman, letting the music play out, but your mind kept drifting back to look in Steve’s eyes. The way he was watching you now, slightly vulnerable. It wasn’t just the song. It was everything about the moment, the way he handed it to you, the way his fingers brushed yours, the way you didn’t want to move. Your eyes kept flicking to his lips, and your mind couldn’t stop reminding you how perfect he looked right here, in this exact moment, near you, with you. 

He stepped back a little, watching you. “Well?” he asked, his voice quiet. 

You didn’t know how to answer. The music spoke for you, and for once, you didn’t need words. Was he trying to send you a message through it? 

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he felt. “It’s…” you stared at him, your cheeks warming. 

When Nancy’s voice echoed from the clothing store, calling for you, your stomach twisted with guilt and a strange, bittersweet ache. You had already crossed a line in your mind, and the thought made your heart race. Steve sighed, pulling the headphones out, avoiding your gaze as he turned and walked away. He joined Nancy in a gentle embrace. You watched them, wondering if it was all in your head. Had you read between lines that weren’t even there? 

Even after you left the store and walked back to the car, the cassette still in your bag, you couldn’t stop replaying that quiet stretch of time: the proximity, the lingering glances, the way he made you feel. What was going on? 

3.

The phone rang just after ten, sharp against the quiet hum of your house. You picked it up, expecting your best friend, but instead, it was him. 

“Hey… she’s not answering,” he said, voice a little rough, like he’d been up too late thinking. There was a distant noise in the background, faint street sounds, maybe the neighbor’s dog barking in the yard. 

“Oh, ok,” you murmured, pressing the receiver to your ear. 

“Mind if I stay on the line for a bit? Just… talk?” His tone was casual, but there was something underneath it. 

You hesitated for a moment, then said softly, “Sure.” 

At first, the conversation was light. School, homework, the weather. But soon, it shifted into more personal territory. He asked about your plans for the future, and you found yourself speaking in a way you hadn’t before. You had always been so guarded, but now, in the quiet of the phone call, it felt easier to open up. 

He seemed to listen to everything, about the classes you loved, your dream to travel, the things you wanted to leave behind. But then, almost out of nowhere, his voice dropped a little, and he said, 

“You know, I’ve been thinking… I really like talking to you. It’s just… with her, it’s hard sometimes.” 

You frowned, not sure what he meant at first. “With Nancy?” 

“Yeah,” he said with a soft laugh, a little nervous. “She’s… she got everything figured out, you know? She knows exactly what she wants. She’s all about studies, college, plans.” His voice softened, like he was admitting something he hadn’t before. “Me? I can barely get through the week without feeling like I’m just… floating. I don’t even know what I’m doing tomorrow, let alone five years from now.” 

Your chest tightened. You could hear the quiet vulnerability in his words, the weight of the uncertainty he carried. “But you’re not… I mean, you’re not just floating,” you said quickly “You’re figuring it out. It’s not a race, you know.” 

He was silent for a beat, then sighed. “Yeah, maybe. But sometimes I wonder if I’m good enough for her. She’s got everything planned, she’s smart, she knows where she’s going. I’m just trying to go with the flow… and sometimes I think she deserves someone who has it all together.” 

There was a pause on the line, and you felt a sudden pang in your chest, a bittersweet ache. You realized, for the first time, how much he was struggling with the comparison between himself and Nancy, how much he worried about being “enough”. Steve, if only you knew how much more than enough you were for me… But I’m not her. 

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to reassure him, to tell him he didn’t need to be perfect to be worth something. Even if, to you, he was perfect in every way. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you let the silence linger for a moment, absorbing the weight of what he had shared.

Eventually, the conversation drifted back to lighter things, shared memories, inside jokes, but even as you laughed, you sensed the way you fit together too easily, and it left a bitter taste in your mouth, because he wasn’t yours and never would be. 

“I… I’m glad you broke up with him,” he said quietly, after a long pause. “You deserve to be happy, Y/N.” 

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a second, you couldn’t speak. The breakup had been hard, devastating, you had never told anyone about the worst of it, the things he had done. He’d been abusive, manipulative. He’d left town in the end, but the scars stayed with you. 

“It…wasn’t easy,” you whispered. “I- If I ever got out of… him… it’s because of you.”

You swallowed, the memory of that night still sharp : the day he had caught your ex hitting you, stepping in without a second thought, and the long talk that had followed. That conversation had given you the courage, the courage to finally leave. 

“I don’t know what I would have done without you, Steve,” you whispered. 

You could hear him exhale softly, a quiet, almost involuntary sigh that lingered longer than a normal pause. 

“You’d have found your way, but I’m glad I was there,” he said finally, his voice gentle but carrying a weight you couldn’t place. “You can always count on me. You’re my friend, I’d never let anyone hurt you like that.”

For a second, you thought you heard a small catch in his tone, like he had held back something just for you, a fleeting hesitation that made your heart thrum in a strange, unfamiliar way. Then he laughed softly, almost to shake it off, and the conversation returned to its usual warmth. 

You talked for almost an hour, your voices comfortable in the quiet of the night. When you finally said goodnight, your chest felt heavy, but your heart was full in a way that scared you. 

You pressed the phone to your cheek, closing your eyes for a second, letting the quiet of the house settle around you. You realized that the feelings you’d been brushing aside, hoping they would fade, or that they weren’t as strong as they seemed, were only growing. What you’d once thought was affection for your knight in shining armor was starting to feel more like… love? 

4.

The cassette clicked when the song ended. Static hissed softly before the next track started, something slow, something romantic, like it was mocking you. The room smelled like cigarette smoke and cheap beer and the rain that had followed you all inside. It was late. It always was when things finally went wrong. You were at Steve’s place, lounging with your friends. Jonathan and Robin were bickering about which movie to pick, their voices rising over the low hum of the conversation. You sat on the couch, your purple dress falling over your tights, a beer in your hand, your fingers twirling your hair in a small, restless habit.

She was talking, Nancy, about something small. School, maybe. Or her brother. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the way her voice faltered, just a little, like she was embarrassed to need comfort over something so stupid. 

He noticed instantly. 

He always did. 

He turned toward her, full body, no hesitation. Black outfit, perfect hair, arms that could hold you steady. He was so pretty. His knee touched hers. His hand found her wrist, thumb pressing lightly where her pulse jumped. You knew that touch. You knew exactly how it felt, how it steadied you, how it told you without words that you were safe now, that nothing bad was going to happen while he was there. 

Your stomach dropped. 

You remembered sitting on the edge of your own bed months ago, knees pulled to your chest, shaking so hard your teeth rattled. You remembered his voice then, low and careful, like sudden movements might break you. You remembered thinking, stupidly, desperately, that maybe this was… love? That had to be. He was so gentle… 

Across the room, she exhaled. She leaned into him without even looking, like she had done it a hundred times already. 

And he let her.

Something hot and poisonous curled in your chest. Jealousy, sharp enough to make you nauseous. You hated it. You hated yourself for it. She was your best friend. She had held your hair back when you were sick with fear. She had never once asked you why you stayed so long with him. She had never once said I told you so. She’d always been there for you, but now, all you could think about was how much you wished her boyfriend would stand up and claim you, right there, in front of everyone.

He smiled at her, not wide, not performative. Just soft. Private. The kind of smile you only gave when you were already in love and didn’t even realize you were showing it yet. His thumb brushed over her skin again, absentminded, intimate. Possessive. They were in their own little world.

A small laugh slipped from you, barely there, as you realized how much you’d been avoiding the truth.  

What you had hadn’t been the beginning of something, it had been the aftermath of something terrible. He hadn’t chosen you. He had caught you when you were falling apart. He had stayed because you were bleeding, and he was the kind of man who didn't walk away from broken things.

You felt stupid for ever believing otherwise. For thinking the way he had looked at you, careful, concerned, endlessly patient, meant you were special. You were just delusional. 

You swallowed hard. Your hands were clenched in your lap, nails biting into your palms, grounding you in a way he no longer would. The room felt too small. Too loud. Every laugh they shared sounded like a door closing. 

He didn’t love you. 

You imagined a future you weren’t in. Him as the perfect husband, knowing her coffee order by heart, dropping her off with a passionate kiss, wrapping her with love. He was the perfect father always at their kids’ competitions, cheering them, while you watched from the sidelines, smiling, pretending this didn’t hollow you out. 

He wasn’t looking at her the way he had looked at you. He wasn’t doing it to protect her. He was doing it because he wanted to. 

No, he didn’t love you.

You were just the girl he saved from drowning. Just a friend. 

You were never meant to be anything more. 

The thought stung, sharp, like glass breaking in your chest. 

You wished you hadn’t needed saving. Because maybe, just maybe, if you hadn’t been so broken when he found you, he might’ve seen you the way he saw her now.  

But he didn’t.

He was looking at her. He was touching her. He was choosing her. And the worst part? You couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t stop the way your heart was shattering just watching him love her in all the ways he never could with you. 

You caught her watching you from across the room, her eyes piercing through the walls you’d built up. Robin always knew. She was the kind of person who could see right through anyone, and right now, she saw all of it. She saw the chaos inside you, the ache that twisted in your gut, the feelings you couldn’t suppress. Her look wasn't pity, it was sympathy. Understanding. It made you feel so exposed and stupid. You quickly dropped your gaze, desperate to shield yourself from her silent accusation, even though you knew she wasn’t judging. 

Your vision blurred, a scream building inside you that you couldn't release. You’d never be his. No matter how different he was from her, no matter how many arguments they had, he loved her. And that was something you could never change. 

You were stuck, trapped between what you felt and what you knew you had to do. Part of you wanted to keep them both, wanted to hold on to the fragile thread of your friendship with her, to keep being near him, even if it meant torturing yourself every time you saw him with her. But deep down, you knew that staying in this place was only hurting you. Watching the man you loved, knowing he would never be yours, was like slowly suffocating. You were lost, unsure of what to do, because the longer you stayed, the more you were drowning in your own feelings.

5.

The bleachers were empty, the late-afternoon sun low and warm across the field. You climbed to sit beside him, metal scraping beneath your sneakers, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might burst. You were wearing a blue sundress, light and cute, the kind that made you feel soft even when everything else hurt. It was strange how something so ordinary, something you’d shared with him every day after school, had grown heavy and complicated now that you understood what you were really feeling. 

You stared down at your hands, clenching and unclenching, trying to steady your racing heart. You had to tell him. Even if it broke you, even if it changed nothing. You couldn’t spend your life wondering. You tried to ignore it, tried to push it away. You told yourself it was just loneliness, just envy at the sight of them together. But the truth pressed anyway : you weren’t jealous of them. You were jealous of her, because she had him.

Steve shifted beside you, hair falling just right over his forehead, yellow sleeves pulled tight over his arms. He was so close, and yet so impossibly distant, because everything you felt was locked inside.  

“She’s the one,” he said suddenly, casually, as if the words weren’t knives in your chest. “I want… kids, a house, the whole thing someday.” 

You froze. The sunlight glinted off his hair, and every detail of him. The curve of his jaw, the tilt of his head, the warmth in his eyes when he smiled at the thought. You wanted to speak, to shove the truth out of your chest, but your throat closed. 

He turned to you, grinning, mischief in his eyes. “And hey, you’d better play at the wedding,” he added, nudging you playfully. “You’re the best at piano.”

Your fingers slackened on the bleachers, the realization hitting you in a wave : you couldn't speak. You couldn’t tell him, not now, maybe never, because he was happy with someone else and you had no right to take that from him. You forced yourself to smile faintly, the world tilting slightly around you. 

“Of course,” you whispered, voice barely audible “I’d… I’d love to.” 

He frowned, tilting his head, but didn’t press. Then his lips quirked into that small, almost boyish smile, the one that made your stomach twist with a mix of longing and despair. 

“Eddie asked about you today,” he said, voice low, almost shy, “I think he likes you,” he laughed, a little uncertain, “I don’t know why, but I… don’t like it.” 

Your chest twisted. His words, innocent, protective, faintly jealous, were both a balm and a knife. Why did you have to make it so complicated, Steve? You were meant to be grateful that he cared, and yet it hurt like hell, because the way he looked at her, not you, was always sharper, softer, untouchable in a way you could never reach. 

“Steve!!” Nancy called his name, and his eyes lit up instantly, warm and unmistakable, like loving her was the easiest thing he’d ever done. 

You forced yourself to look at him : the way he met her by the bleachers, the careful way his hand rested at her waist before he kissed her softly, whispering sweet nothings meant for her alone. 

You wanted to step closer, to tell him that he could love you too, that you’d wait, that you’d be everything he didn't know he wanted but you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Not after everything you’d seen, not after seeing how he looked at her. You had no right. 

So you stayed quiet. You swallowed the words back down, letting them die in your chest. You didn’t want to ruin what they had. You didn't want to hurt anyone. 

“Y/N ! You’re coming?” he called from the bleachers below. 

Why did his voice feel like a shard of glass in your ribs? 

Yeah, I’m coming. It doesn’t matter that I love you, Steve. I’ll just keep it to myself. I’ll watch you be happy with someone else because you deserve it. Hell, it hurts, but I think I love you more than I love myself. And it’s ok. It has to be ok. I can handle it. You wanted to scream it out…

Instead, you nodded, your voice faltering slightly as you spoke, betraying the weight of everything you couldn’t say. 

Now wasn’t the time, and it felt like it never would be.

a/n : Um... I don’t know? Feedback is always welcome (likes or reblogs too ofc) TYSM for reading, kisses baby 💕

You ran your fingers through his hair, smiling softly at his morning voice. “Mhm, though it seems like you’re barely awake.”

He simply hummed in response and pulled you impossibly closer, pressing tired kisses to your neck and jaw. You scratch his scalp and let the calm from the morning wash over the both of you before you had to get up and run the household like you were running a tight ship.

“You ready to get up yet?” You ask softly, pausing your movements when you don’t get a response. “Darry?”

“Yeah,” He groaned and sat up, leaning back on his elbows. “I’m up.”

You giggle and wipe away the tiredness from his eyes, earning a quick kiss to the lips before he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched properly. You follow suit and sit beside him, tilting your head to meet his blue-green eyes.

“You tired already, old man?”

Darry playfully glared at you, “You’re the one who wanted to stay up all night.”

“And you agreed.” You point out and move to stand, laughing when he pulled you to stand in between his legs, his chin resting on your abdomen. You rest a manicured hand on his jaw, thumb gently rubbing his incoming stubble. “We’re only twenty, Dar. We’re still young.”

“I know.” He murmured and pressed a kiss on your palm. “You remind me every day.”

You smile softly and watch him as he stands, resting a warm hand on your waist. He kisses your forehead before pulling out his work clothes for the day, making you spring right into action.

The routine you and Darry had started ever since you practically moved in with the Curtises. While he got ready for work in the morning, you made it your job to get the boys up and ready for their own day—occasionally the rest of the gang when they stayed over. Last night, Johnny stayed over.

You knocked on the boys’ bedroom door before opening it quietly, your heart tugging at the sight of Ponyboy wrapped in Sodapop’s arms. You sat on the end of their bed and gently shake Sodapop awake first, watching his face contort in discomfort.

“You gotta get up now, Pepsi-Cola. I don’t want you late for work again.” You say quietly as he finally sits up, exhaustion covering his face. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” He grumbled, rubbing his eyes with his hands and slowly making his way to the bathroom to shower, work clothes in hand.

You sigh and look back at Ponyboy who was still under the covers. “Hey, Pony. It’s time to get up for school.”

“Five more minutes, mom.” He groaned and tugged the blanket over his head, not realizing what he had said.

For a second, you sat frozen at his words. There were several instances where the boys would call you mom, but they were all fairly conscious and said it as a joke. But as Ponyboy subconsciously called you his mom, your heart only ached at the thought. And you could never replace Mrs. Curtis—everyone knew that.

“Ponyboy, you need to get up.” You pulled the covers away from him, looking down at his tired figure with soft eyes. “Please? You can’t miss another day of school or Darry’s gonna have to come down to the principal’s again.”

After contemplating—although you knew Ponyboy just wanted to lay in bed longer—he begrudgingly got up and shooed you out of the bedroom, muttering a quick acknowledgment in your direction.

You sighed before entering the living room, a sad smile tugging at your lips when you spotted Johnny curled up on the couch. His limbs were hanging off the edge and the blanket barely covered his body, but you knew he would rather sleep here than at the lot or worse, his own home.

“Hey, Johnnycakes.” You kneel beside him and put a hand on his arm, careful to not scare him from the sudden action. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a baby.” He mumbled and gave you a sheepish smile before sitting up, straightening his jacket to have something to fiddle with. “Sorry for intrudin’.”

You stand and fold the blanket, waving a dismissive hand. “You’re always welcome, Johnny. Hell, I’d have you move in with us if it weren’t for your folks.”

Johnny burned red and nodded, mumbling an excuse about needing to use the restroom. You opened your mouth to tell him Sodapop was occupying the space, but the sudden stomps of boots that came running inside the house interrupted you, the screen door rattling behind them.

“Two-Bit Mathews and Steve Randle!” You call from the living room as they ran into the kitchen to grab the chocolate cake from the icebox, ignoring Darry’s disappointed look. “What did I say about slamming the door?”

“Sorry, ma!” They hollered in unison, sitting their asses right in front of the television that was tuned into Mickey Mouse for Two-Bit’s sanity.

You rolled your eyes and entered the kitchen, leaning back against the counter as Darry prepared breakfast for the household. You watched him with a smile, eyeing him up and down before meeting his gaze, his eyebrow raised in your direction.

“What? You can’t blame a woman for staring at her boyfriend who looks effortlessly handsome cooking.” You brush a stray piece of hair away from your face, cheeks dusted with a light pink hue. “Besides, you chose not to wear a shirt in the morning, Superman.”

“Maybe because I’m comfortable like this.” Darry swapped the finished eggs for bacon, pulling out the grape jelly for Sodapop and hard boiled eggs for Ponyboy. “Or maybe because your reactions are totally worth it.”

“Aw, you love me.” You put a hand on your heart dramatically and smile wider when he pulled you close by the waistband of your sleep shorts. “Hey—“

“I do love you, don’t question it.” He murmured and pressed a kiss to your lips, smirking when you gasped at the sudden action.

Darry knew you knew that he hated public displays of affection. So when he initiated it in his own house filled with the boys who you both knew would make fun of the display, you were thoroughly shocked.

“Darrel, man, do you have an ice pack—? Jesus Christ, keep that in the bedroom.” Dally scrubbed his face at the sight of the two you of you and turned away, boots heavy against the floor as he headed back into the living room where he last was.

You pulled away from the kiss, giggling at Darry’s suddenly bright red face. “You know, for a manly guy, you get red real fast, Curtis.”

“Shut up.” He snapped your waistband against your hip and spun you around, nudging you out of the kitchen playfully. “I love you.”

“Love you more.” You huff in amusement and tilt your head back at him, blowing a kiss before changing your gaze toward the boys sitting in the living room, each boy doing their own thing.

Sodapop was lazily laying on the couch with a towel wrapped around his waist, Ponyboy was most likely telling Johnny about his latest book read, Dallas was smoking a cigarette and blowing it in Steve’s face, and Two-Bit—well—he still sat directly in front of the television with the plate of cake in front of him, using his hands to dig into the sweet without care.

You sighed at the sight and grabbed your purse, taking money from your wallet and handing five dollar bills to Johnny and Ponyboy.

“For lunch. If you don’t eat, I will find you and make you eat extra for dinner, yes?” You put your hands on your hips and tap your finger, watching them with a careful eye as they nodded vigorously and tucked the money into their pockets.

Sodapop lolled his head to the side and met your eyes, making you raise your brows at his appearance. “Why aren’t you dressed for work?”

“Thought I could wait until after breakfast.” He mused, running his fingers through his wet hair before shaking his head like a wet dog, earning an annoyed groan from Dallas. “That alright, mom?”

You exhale slowly and rub your temples, choosing to ignore what he called you. “As long as you’re ready before it’s time for you to leave, it’s alright.” You opened your eyes again and stared at the boys as they returned to do their own thing, wishing they would cooperate a little better than they did.

Just as you caught Dallas stubbing his cigarette into the wooden side table instead of the ashtray you specifically bought for him, Darry walked into the living room and put a hand on your back, stabilizing your overworked mind without knowing it. You looked up to your right and gave him a soft smile, earning one back before he spoke to the boys.

“Breakfast is ready.” Darry announced and watched his brothers and the rest of the gang stumble over their own feet to get a piece of real food before anyone else ate it—almost like a stampede of animals in Africa.

“You better be washing your hands first!” You call out to them when you heard plates clash into each other, pursing your lips to hide a grin when their groans and complaints rang through the house.

You waited until you heard rushing water to look up at Darry properly, his hand still warm against your back.

He tilted his head down and smiled, “You ought to be their real mother with the way you scold them.”

“Six boys under one roof? Hmph, sounds like a recipe for disaster.” You rest your hands on his chest, feeling his steady heart beat under your fingertips. “Besides, if I’m gonna be a mother, I’d rather it not be with those group of boys—“

“Steve, that’s not your egg!”

“Well, Dally took my egg!”

“Can y’all shut up?”

“No!”

You and Darry look back at one another, your laughter and his chuckles ringing through the air. You both knew you would rather take care of these boys rather than send them back to their terrible homes—it was part of the Curtis’ open door policy. Besides, you cared for each boy in their own way, Ponyboy, Johnny, and Sodapop as your main priority.

“You think they’ll let us have our own breakfast?” Darry moved his hand to your hip and slowly moved toward the kitchen, the arguing from the boys getting louder with each step.

You peer into the crowded kitchen, eyes widening at the sight of the once clean space. “I think they probably ate all the food already… Maybe.”

“Hey, it’s mom and dad!” Two-Bit pointed the two of you out, the food that was stuffed in his mouth flying out with every word.

The rest of the gang cheered in laughter—each boy expressing their own opinion on your relationship.

Dallas was beyond disgusted by the two of you, but still agreed that you were both like the parents of the gang; Two-Bit loved calling the two of you ‘mom and dad,’ finding joy in the simple things; Steve didn’t care too much, only adding to the joke whenever he felt like it; Johnny thought the two of you were a better set of parents then his were; and Ponyboy and Sodapop?

They loved your relationship the second the two of you made it official all those years ago, not minding too much that you and Darry were essentially their second set of parents. They wouldn’t trade the two of you for the world, even if you were both sometimes a little hard on them.

“Yeah yeah, mom and dad are here.” Darry pushed through the boys and stole his plate from the counter, emerging victorious with a cup of orange juice for you.

“Thanks.” You kiss his cheek before returning your eyes to the scene in front of you, resting your head on his shoulder. “We sure know how to make a house full, don’t we?”

“Well, according to them, we are mom and dad.” He splits half his breakfast sandwich with you. “I think it’s part of the job.”

You look over at Johnny, who seems to be eating more than he usually does whenever he’s over which makes your heart feel a little better at the sight. “I think I like this job, even if it wasn’t ours to begin with.”